


Here Comes The Sun

by dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, F/M, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Morning After, Mutual Pining, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is soft, fucking fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba/pseuds/dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba
Summary: I was so tired last night and just kind of kissed you, because I felt like it. It's now the morning after. Do we go back to normal? I really don't want to. Haha jk, unless..?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	Here Comes The Sun

Everything is slow like honey. Limbs knotted with sleep, joints stiff, socked feet shuffling, childlike and tired, through plush carpeting, then onto cold, recently polished, black marble. Her eyelids are still heavy, her steps small. She wishes there were more hours during the day. She wants to sleep more, but doesn't wanna miss the sunrise. 

It feels like maybe her heart hasn't yet caught up with how tired she is, because it's beating increasingly fast as she nears the communal area, the high tech kitchen in the center of the compound. _Why the sudden anxiety, dude, I just woke up, cut me a break._

She's too sleepy to deal with this crap. She's a morning person, in the sense that she enjoys drinking her coffee during the waking hours, where everything is quiet, traffic doesn't exist, and the world seems still asleep. The compound is between trees anyways, far from the city, and no matter who is awake, there are no quinjets or cars coming back and forth yet. It's glorious. 

But between that part of her day and now… well, a cup of coffee is necessary, and the time it takes to make it just wakes her up. 

Her heart however, seems to have a different idea. Something's different this morning. 

_Oh shit_.

The memory kind of manifests out of nowhere, like a glittery, sweet cloud of smoke. Last night, her, Steve… holy _shit_. 

It was a grueling mission, that one. Far too long. Anything over two days usually is, but this one took six, and by the time they'd cleaned up at their safe house and began their trip home, she was already almost asleep on the aircraft. With already dropping lids, she shuffled and plopped next to Steve. It took nothing but her soft sigh and an arm wrapped around her to lean her head on his shoulder and fall right to sleep, legs curled up and leaning on his left thigh. 

She doesn't know how much time passed after that, but she faintly remembers Nat's soft call of "we're almost there," and then arms pulling her up, around her back and under her knees, vanilla scented soap right next to her nostrils and a chin comfortably leaning over her head. Steve. He'd carried her to her room. 

And as he was about to leave, she grabbed his wrist, tugged him close. Her eyes blinked up at him tiredly, and she'd motioned for him to lean closer. His knees popped a little at the sudden change in stance and she mumbled "you're getting old," on the side of her pillow, to which he chuckled, deep and satisfied, straight from his chest. A jab to him existing for over a century, at this point. They shared a tired smile, and something, a gravitational pull of some kind, urged her to sit up on her elbow, just a little, push some hair from his eyes- it's getting longer, she remembers thinking, it suits him-, and cup his jaw gently. Steve's eyes remained open while she pushed herself up, lips landing softly in the corner of his mouth like they've been doing it for years. A sigh from his parted lips.

Thick, strong hands wrapped around her wrist and held her hand there, against his face. He kneeled a little better, more comfortably, and turned to kiss her palm. Her face wasn't too far from his, and both just breathed for a moment. It felt so natural, the proximity, so good, to just lean forward and press her lips on his. It felt like muscle memory, only it's not, and she'd just kissed her best friend in the mouth. And she couldn't regret it any less. Steve's lips pulled into a smile, when she tiredly plopped back on her mattress, unbothered by the line she'd just crossed. He swiped some hair away from her face, cupped it and swiped his thumb tenderly over her cheek, before pressing a firm, gentle kiss on her brow. Her eyes were already closed. 

Jesus fucking Christ, was she _drunk_ last night?? Does fatigue really make her that careless? She supposed her heart had good reason to be so frantic. The girl was crazy! What the hell?! Who allowed her to act so impulsively?!

And yet… Steve hadn't minded? He'd either been kind and sweet enough to accept it was fatigue induced, just an action done on the fly because she'd been tired, or he'd… liked it? 

What a day this one is gonna be. _Good job, fucking up a perfectly good friendship without my fucking consent. Stupid heart._

She stumbles into the kitchen, half of her hoping she won't find him there, and another half hoping she will. 

It seems the universe wants to indulge her today, and the second half has won. There he is, at 6.30 in the fucking morning, lazily cutting a hard boiled egg, and blinking his own dreams away. Super enhanced bearing or not, he doesn't turn when she enters the room, just keeps cutting his stupid healthy ingredients for his stupid healthy breakfast, and the gravitational pull is back. Only this time she is wide awake. Well, almost.

She doesn't know what to do, but her brain is still half asleep, rationalizing this situation seems impossible. For a second, she lets her guard down, stops caring for reacting the perfect way, and just does what she _wants._

She shuffles her feet, intentionally louder to avoid startling him and, as he mumbles a soft 'Good morning', she wraps her arms around his torso and buries her nose between his shoulder blades. 

Steve tenses, clearly not having known it was her, but barely for a second, as she mumbles her good morning into the soft cotton material of his t-shirt. His shoulders sag a little, and his hands don't falter, as he places his cheese on the rest of the toast carefully, then the top bread, and shoves it into the toaster. Hands being wiped on a wet rug, and then covering hers over his stomach, he relaxes back into her, if only for a second. 

"Sleep well?" He asks, because he's tooth-rottingly sweet and kind and he genuinely means the question, he's not at all about fake small talk. She hums, too tired to feel any shade of nervous or embarrassed. If he hasn't stabbed her with the knife he was previously holding, then she's okay.

But then he grabs her wrists and loosens them off of him, and okay, maybe a spark of nervousness tinges the pattern of her heart beat for a second, before he spins around to face her and places her hands back around him. Now here he is, standing face to face with her, and he leans on the counter a little bit, pulling her closer between his legs, just slightly. 

Why does this feel so effortless and natural? They've never done it before but it feels like they've been doing it for years. This kind of intimacy, while they were great friends, was never shared between them. It's great- no, it's amazing. It's warm and safe and _right_ , familiar, in a way that nothing else has been before.

She leans into him, nose burying in the center of his chest, and he wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. The kitchen smells like coffee and he still smells like vanilla shampoo, and her heart feels split open, her ribcage about to disintegrate to splinters. This is so simple and yet it feels like the biggest thing in the world. 

"This is okay, right?" She mumbles softly, and he pets her hair just a little with a resounding sigh. "Yeah," and his voice is hoarse, laced with sleep and not having spoken for a couple of hours and she loves him like this. In the kitchen. Making coffee and toast and hard boiled eggs. In his gray sweats, his soft shirt and softer heart. How did she go without this for so long? 

One arm is around her waist, his other hand on her head gently, and she rests her chin on his chest after a second, looking right up at him, and earning a kiss on her forehead. She hums, a lazy smile stretching her lips. She really wants to kiss him. 

Steve leans down to nudge his nose with hers, affectionate and flirtatious and soft, and they're both blushing, and smiling like goons. The world feels polished and new, much like the marble floor they're standing on, while Steve slowly lets out a breath, lets his eyelashes tickle the top of cheeks and places his soft lips on hers. A simple press, comfortable and lazy. She hums. 

Their quiet moment is broken when the cheese from his toast sizzles on the grill of the machine and he jumps a little, years of training making him look for enemies to fight, even if he's safely in the most secure kitchen ~~America~~ Anthony Stark can offer. She chuckles a little, pushes off of him but doesn't let him go, as he goes to rescue his breakfast. "Just cheese, honey," she tells him, and he throws her a look over his shoulder as the room begins smelling like childhood and sunny afternoons.

It's pulled on a plate, and she lets him do his thing, hopping on the counter and watching him pull two mugs and filling them up with coffee. Two sugars and cream in one, one sugar and nothing else in the other, and, god damn he knows how she takes her coffee, she can actually _melt_. He walks up to her, hands her the first mug with a hand on her thigh and a kiss to her temple, and her eyes close involuntarily. "C'mon," he tells her. "Join me?" She hops off the counter while he grabs his breakfast and offers her an elbow. She grins and slips her free hand through it, giving his shoulder an affectionate peck. 

"Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Let me know!


End file.
